


The Contract of Kol

by SlayerKast



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Doppelganger (D&D), Gen, Slayer's Take, Vasselheim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlayerKast/pseuds/SlayerKast
Summary: Following the fall of Emon, Vox Machina returned to Vasselheim to seek the help of the Slayer's Take in the fight against the Chroma Conclave. When they arrived, the Huntmaster, Kashaw, and Zahra had just returned from a contract, carrying the featureless head of a doppelganger. Having hunted the illusive Rak'shasa, Hotis, part of Vox Machina understood the wild goose chase that was trying to find a shapeshifter in a city full of colorful individuals... but they still couldn't help but wonder what kind of contract would warrant the aid of the steely Huntmaster herself.





	1. The Big Deal

**Author's Note:**

> This story references events from Chapter 43: Return to Vasselheim, which were only hinted at by Matthew Mercer and the two guests, Will Friedle and Mary Elizabeth McGlynn. Rather than leave a good mystery to be hidden, I decided to present a possible series of events leading to the beheading of a contracted doppelganger... as someone who enjoyed playing a Changeling in 4th Edition D&D.

“ _You see within there’s a head of what looks like a humanoid... but the skin is kind of grayish and featureless. The eyes are... whitish and milky, and what hair’s there in wisps is white in color…”_

_“This is the head of a Doppelgänger… a creature that spends a lot of its time infiltrating societies and being able to take the form and shape of other individuals to assume their position, to take their wealth, and to do all sorts of sometimes interesting, or dastardly, things.”_

_“It’s a Shapeshifter?”_

_“Yeah, and it was a bitch to find.”_

* * *

“Unacceptable! Simply unacceptable!”

A male voice echoed through the guild hall, booming with a harsh tone of impertinence and self-importance. Its source was a stout Half-Elf, dressed in a fine gold-trimmed navy suit-coat and freshly-pressed white cotton breeches; he was trembling slightly, some strands of his slick dark-brown hair falling askew to either side of his rounded face. He slammed his fist down against the wooden desk before him, multiple golden bands and jeweled rings that adorned his long fingers clacking loudly.

His name was Cornus Braconni, a nobleman of sorts who made large donations to each of the temples standing in Vasselheim. By what means he achieved his wealth, however, could only be speculated, as even his closest peers within the city had never seen him make any sort of public trade. Both Huntmaster Vanessa and Murtin Cyndrial stared at the man — Vanessa with arms crossed in impatience, and Murtin pulling some papers back to avoid them being scattered by the enraged egotist. The silence lingered for a moment until Cornus spoke again, his obvious anger causing his voice to quiver.

“Some low-life street urchin of a… a shapeshifter is going around the city, dragging MY NAME and MY REPUTATION through the dirt, and the Bastions have done nothing! Zero!”

He raised his fist from the desk and waved it angrily in the air in front of him; he then swept it to the side, nearly hitting the young-looking Elf woman standing to his right. She, too, was dressed well, in a long purple robe with a silky white collar and green brooch, but kept her hands folded down on her waist — between this and her slightly-bowed head, Vanessa gathered that the woman was one of Cornus’s probably vastly-underpaid servants.

Murtin started speaking again once he was reassured that his yet-incomplete paperwork was safe, “You have to understand, sir, that the, uh, Slayer’s Take is not a bunch of private investigators for hire. The guild members are hunters of fearsome, dangerous creatures that-”

“I don’t care if you’re the Platinum Order!” Cornus interrupted, slapping his hand flat down on the desk. “I want that doppelgänger caught! Killed! SOMETHING!”

Vanessa raised her hand, silencing Cornus’s outburst except for some very intense huffing and puffing. “As my associate has told you, sir Braconni, the Slayer’s Take deals with monsters that threaten the way of life for the city of Vasselheim and its inhabitants... including such high-status men as yourself. Though we do not care for the trifle details of the reasons why such creatures are hunted, if you believe this doppelgänger poses a threat-”

“Absolutely-” Cornus started to interrupt, but Vanessa simply raised her voice and continued on.

“-a threat to the _entire_ city, then perhaps we can discuss… contractual obligations and payment thereof, hm?”

Cornus furrowed his brow and crossed his arms in front of his chest, scrambling his brain for what he believed would be the right words to convince these two _ruffians_ that his business WAS the entire city. Before he could open his mouth, however, his favorite servant girl - Marina - stepped forward and spoke for him in that sweet, soft tone of voice he had come to adore.

“Master Braconni deals with some very powerful figures in Vasselheim, including the Trade Ambassador and the Distribution Master of the Abundant Terrace. If someone were impersonating him and gained access to those connections, it could deal a grave blow to the very livelihood of trade throughout the entire city.”

Vanessa raised an eyebrow at the girl’s words, but closed her eyes in thought — she seemed truthful, and should something happen to the agricultural district and trade within the city went sour… As her thought trailed off, she nodded and opened her eyes, returning her gaze to Cornus. “Your maiden speaks well for you, Braconni. Mayhaps she should handle your diplomacy from now on.”

Cornus wrinkled his nose at the blatant insult. “Are we going to discuss this contract or not?”


	2. The Good, the Bad, and the Mousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the finer details of payment being worked out, Huntmaster Vanessa begins assembling the members of the Slayer's Take for the job. The first person she needed was someone who could openly cast magic within Vasselheim, a certain Cleric burdened with the powers of the divine — and bothered by everything else.

Darkness. Eerie, silent, and cold darkness, stretching out for what seemed like miles on all sides. No clouded gray sky that usually hung over Vasselheim, no verdant blades of grass that waved in the ever-so-slight breeze. The only thing to see was pitch black of the surrounding void, and the only thing to hear was the constant _thump-thump_ of his heart.

And then, pain.

A searing pain in his arm, each of the small cuts burning red-hot and flaring with sensation, as strong as the day they were first made. As the pain ebbed to dullness, a frigid claw embraced his bicep, a hand of pure darkness that only added to the pain. Over his left shoulder he could feel her presence, a long breath releasing a cloud of gray steam that faded into nothing. Even with the soul-piercing stare that came from her intense red eyes, Kashaw remained focused — focused on the pain, on the stillness that surrounded them, and on his own body. He was the anchor, and she was the tide trying to sweep him away.

_Kashaw..._

He slowed his breathing, trying to block out Vesh’s voice. Inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale.

_Kashaw… you…_

Inhale…

_You are mine…_

Exhale…

_Forever…_

Kashaw snapped back to his place in reality, his mind clearing as he opened his eyes. The darkness gave way to the small, wooden walls of his room, the musty air swirling as a light breeze poured in through his cracked window. He sat up from his meditative position on the floor and moved to the dresser which held his scarce belongings, dipping a cloth in a basin of cold water and running it over his face and arm — though his scars no longer burned, it was still a soothing motion that put his mind at ease.

As he stared into the slightly-dusty mirror that hung above it, he heard a knock at his door. Three light raps, followed by a certain mousy voice.

“Uh, Mr. Vesh, sir?”

Kashaw let out a long sigh as he moved for the door, tossing on a simple shirt before throwing the door open. Before him was Lyra, who pulled back at his sudden appearance with a small “eep!” and adjusted the large glasses that threatened to slide off the end of her nose.

“Look,” Kash began, leaning his left side against the doorframe, “just Kashaw is fine. What do you want?”

“Oh, right! Mr. Kashaw, sir, sorry,” Lyra stuttered, reaching up to adjust her glasses back into their proper place. “I keep forgetting you don’t like the whole… _Vesh_ _thing_. Even though, you know, you’re married… to a goddess… well, a dark goddess, but at least you’re married. Aldor won’t even talk to me anymore! Do you know-”

Kash groaned and massaged his temples as Lyra started into one of her infamous tangents. Knowing what would happen if she were allowed to continue, he interrupted. “Look, what do you want? I was kind of in the middle of something.”

“O-oh! Oh gosh, I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to disturb you! I came here to tell you… what was it?” Lyra hummed in thought for a minute, her thumb running across the edge of the ornate spellbook cradled in her arms. “Right! The Huntmaster wanted to see you about a contract. She said she’d need your type of magic. It sounds exciting! I wish I could—”

“Okay. Thank you, Lyra,” he said, trying to usher her out of his face and slip out of the conversation. “I’ll go meet with her.”

“Right! Well, have fun!” Lyra nodded, stepping back from Kashaw’s room. As he closed his door, he could hear her tumble over the small wooden table that was sitting in the hall behind her, followed shortly by her reassuring words of “I’m okay! It’s fine, it’s all good, nothing knocked over!” He let out a half-hearted chuckle and shook his head — that girl was a mess. Cute, sure, and apparently wickedly powerful with that spellbook of hers, but it was hard to remember over all the times that she tripped over herself, or spilled her own tea. And she loved Aldor, of all people; Kashaw knew he himself could be a jerk, but Aldor took the cake on the jerk-front. What did she even see in him?

Rather than waste more time contemplating Lyra’s love life, or lack thereof, Kashaw started pulling on his armor, and picked up his spear from its spot in the corner of his room. When he grabbed it, he felt the shadowy presence of Vesh emanating from within, a constant reminder that he could feel in the back of his mind: he was never truly alone. As he walked out the door in search of the Huntmaster, however, only one thing sprang to mind.

How the hell did Lyra know about Vesh, anyway?


	3. Forging Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With one part of her team notified, Huntmaster Vanessa leaves the Slayer's Take to seek out a certain other tiefling - one Zahra Hydris, whose powers she knew would be invaluable in hunting out their contracted target. 
> 
> On the other side of town, another meeting takes place — a certain servant girl, waiting in a familiar establishment, anticipating who she hears deals with other shady individuals...

“You are not an easy woman to track down, you know.”

Zahra stopped her arm mid-swing, clenching a blacksmith’s hammer in her heavy leather glove, and raised her head up from the glowing-hot metal on the anvil before her. After carefully setting a large pair of tongs down so her current project wouldn't flip out of place, she raised a hand and pulled up the thick goggles that protected her silver eyes from the heat. She smirked as she recognized the distinct purple-hued tiefling before her, then wiped the sweat from her brow and dropped the hammer into the hardened dirt at her feet.

“Well, Huntmaster, I mean no offense, but the guild is a little lacking in equipment such as this,” Zahra explained, gesturing to the large forge in the wall and the piles of ore stacked nearby; copper, bronze, iron, and a few others that Vanessa couldn’t recognize at a glance. “Luckily, Samson is nice enough to let me use his! Provided, of course, I either bring my own material or buy it from him.”

The Huntmaster chuckled and stepped further into the room, an easily twenty-foot tall hemisphere made entirely of brick — save for the stone forge that took up a large portion of the wall towards the back, and two rectangular windows on either side. Admittedly, it was nicer than the rudimentary forge she had set up in the guild hall, but they were hunters, not smithies; the pursuit of hobbies could be done elsewhere, on each member’s own time.

“What is it you’re working on?” Vanessa asked, her head turning ever so slightly towards the ever-cooling shape trapped between the tongs.

“It’s a gift,” Zahra started to explain, walking over and picking up what appeared to be a long weapon shaft. “For the one who beat the Hammer, I’m making a hammer.” She smirked, and Vanessa couldn’t help but chuckle — the poetic justice wasn’t lost on her.

“Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut into your gift-making time, my dear. Duty calls, and I need your specialties on this job.”

Zahra’s brow furrowed immediately, and her tail whipped about anxiously. “My ‘specialties’? You mean—”

“Yes, that curious ability to peer into the minds of others,” Vanessa interrupted. “For what we’re hunting, I believe it could be absolutely necessary.”

“And what’s that?”

Vanessa gave the other tiefling a wry smile and turned back towards the entrance, waving her hand out as she proceeded to leave. “We can discuss all that back at the Take — it’s not for wandering ears to hear, hm?” After giving another wave to Samson, who nodded in return from his spot behind his ore-laden counter, she opened the door and then disappeared around the corner into the Quadroads, leaving Zahra to stand at her anvil and wonder just what it was her enigmatic boss had signed her up for _this_ time.

* * *

 On the other side of town, a young woman with aqua-colored hair and small, pointed ears shifted uneasily, sitting amidst a sea of cushions washed with a soft, purple light from the multitude of _faerie fire_ -lit lanterns on the walls. Despite her place behind a somewhat-sheer privacy curtain, which separated her from the large open room of the Velvet Cabaret, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder towards the main entrance. Even with the two guards there, one of which she knew fought in the Crucible on a regular basis, she still felt anxious about where she was and who she was meeting with — or would be meeting with, if they'd ever show up.

“Marina Wayard?”

Marina jumped as a gruff voice came from the other side of the curtain, and a few pillows scattered from her seat. She turned and came face-to-face with a rugged-looking human peering through the curtains, with short black hair that fell limply alongside his square jaw. He had a broad, stocky frame, and wore a very clean, very expensive-looking, silk shirt that tucked beneath a set of tight-looking dark leather trousers and a matching belt.

“Y-yes, and, um, you- you are?” Marina stammered her question out, not recognizing the man in the slightest.

“Your contact,” he replied nonchalantly, stepping into the small “room” and sitting across from the half-elf woman.

Marina eyed the man suspiciously. “I’m… sorry?”

“You’re meeting Sel, yeah? I’m Sel.” He grunted as he settled into the other heap of pillows, obviously uncomfortable with the seating arrangements. Marina could hear him mutter about “getting some real gods-damned chairs”. This wasn’t at all who she was expecting to meet with, but if he knew about it in the first place he must’ve been telling the truth… right?

After taking a moment to glance him up and down once more, Marina relaxed a little and leaned forward, hands on her crossed legs. “So you know why we’re meeting, right?”

“You mentioned it was urgent, that you needed to meet with someone from our group,” Sel explained, pulling out a folded note from his pocket. Marina recognized it immediately at the note she had written, and let out a very small sigh of relief. He continued, “So, what’s so urgent?”

Marina furrowed her brow, glancing out to the main floor of the cabaret again. Servers walked by with platters of drinks for their patrons, and occasional laughter came muffled through another set of enchanted curtains. Once another server walked by and she felt like no one would overhear her in the moment, she turned back to Sel.

“We need to talk about Kol.”


End file.
